


Scratches On Vinyl

by t0talcha0s



Category: BioShock
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-fall of Rapture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silas Cobb is abrasive, deviant, rude, and all over rough around the edges, however to an artist such as Sander Cohen that rawness contains such beauty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratches On Vinyl

Had someone in Fort Frolic found themself desiring a new record they would be greatly disappointed, Silas Cobb, owner of Rapture Records and one holding the coveted position of Sander Cohen's disciple isn't in his store. The storefront advertises his absence but gives no details on what has him so indisposed. Today Cobb finds himself in the company of Sander Cohen, something which would usually be an honor, but with tensions mounted and Cohen in a more volatile then usual state thanks to the absence of one Andrew Ryan from his performances it seems more like a meeting with an enemy. The table at which they sit is gilded with gold, everything is bathed in a soft purple glow, Cohen's grease paint seems illuminated in it. The backdrop for their little charade is decorated in Cohen's newest work, plaster-dipped corpses arranged artfully just so. Silas can't help but think the glass of sharp-smelling booze with which he's presented is fit more for Rodriguez then himself but he also thinks it might be a nice way to make this situation more pleasant. 

"Silas," Cohen says, Silas grunts in reply. "My deviant flitting little hummingbird." His voice seems too sugary sweet for the conversation Silas knows they're having. He could compare the sensation to being scolded by a school teacher, but a teacher's not usually one to kill you, and Silas had made sure he had a healthy stash of EVE on his person before coming here. "I spend hours, days, months slaving away at my fickle muse's whims to create what can only be called true art, an album so shining with greatness even the naysayers can't help but keep their lips shut tight upon their "nays", and do you know how you treat such an album?" Oh Silas knows, he doesn't feel like displaying his allegiance to Cohen in his window, he only sticks with the hack because he pays his rent, and somewhere deeper he fears the consequences of leaving, or trying to leave. "You shove it away on the bottom shelf to collect dust." Silas drums his fingers on his glass, it rings like crystal. Cohen's being fairly calm about this, it puts Silas even further on edge. 

"Culpepper turns a pretty penny." Silas knows he shouldn't bring up Anna Culpepper, as her last album personally targeted both Cohen and Ryan in scathing criticisms, he hopes his disinterested tone will keep Cohen's temper from erupting. 

"Culpepper," Cohen spits out the word, like poison, the contempt obvious in his voice, his eye twitches. "Is nothing but a two-bit, untalented, cliché, worm which fancies itself a songbird." He says it quickly, anger broiling up in his tone, he let's out a deep breath while Silas holds his. "Really Silas this would be so much more pleasant," another word spat out, at least he's trying to control himself. "If you were simply more loyal and upfront about where your allegiances lie." Silas looks up from where he was looking at his glass, which was more a disinterested and defiant posture then a submissive one, locks eyes with Cohen, his mouth settled into a hard and unfriendly glare. 

"My allegiances lie where my taste in music does." A blatant jab, an insult. Cohen's face flares in anger. A pop of red, an acrid smell, and a sound much like a camera bulb flashing sound through the room, Cohen disappears from Silas view. Silas feels his blood run hotter with fire in defense. When Cohen appears behind him, swinging, he's prepared, his hand grasps Cohen's wrist and his hand heats up just enough to be uncomfortable. He couldn't hurt Cohen, he knows he couldn't. This defiant charade he has is all in good fun, and he means it, truly he means it, he hates the old hack, but deep within himself he knows he needs him. Cohen smiles, bright and slightly yellow and far too animalistic. 

"Oh my feisty little kitten, put your claws away, we needn't squabble over such things." _As if you didn't start this in the first place._ Silas thinks to himself, yet he slowly, tentatively releases Cohen's wrist. "Silas after all we've been through we're still at each other's throats." Cohen steps closer, deeper into Silas's personal space, his attitude seeming to have shifted. "As if you would ever be a doubter Silas." He says it with such sincerity and self-assured legitimacy Silas wonders if he says it enough even he'll begin to believe it. Cohen's hand comes to rest affectionately on His cheek, he hates this part, makes him feel more like Cohen's pet then anything else. "Do you love me Silas?"

"No." Usually the bluntness and rudeness of the statement would cause Cohen to go into a frenzy which would leave at least one of them bruised for sure, not that you could tell beneath Cohen's pompous, pancake makeup, now it just makes Cohen's eyes light up. 

"Do you hate me Silas?" Some contemplation and a resigned sigh.

"No." Though Silas wishes so deeply he could. 

"Do you need me Silas?" A rubber band twangs in Silas' chest, no, the word sits on his tongue but refuses to form, of course he doesn't need him. He wishes he could just say it. 

"You pay my rent." Truth, shallow though it may be. 

"That's true I do, but do you _need_ me Silas?" The inflection with which he says it makes Silas sneer, makes the fire in him, the one not brought by ADAM, alight, he wishes he could spit in Cohen's face, he spits on the floor instead. His words are bitter, resolute, wishes he could fight his way out of this with his fists, knows he can't. 

"Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Just needed to practice writing Sander Cohen and hammer out my characterization of Silas so it's a little rough. 
> 
> My tumblr's barefootcosplayer


End file.
